


Not in the Script

by catididnt



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gabriel wrot the movie script, Good Omens Movie Script (1992), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Raphael's a good angel, tw - racial microaggressions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22456978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catididnt/pseuds/catididnt
Summary: After Gabriel's report (a performance based on the 1992 script) about why Armageddon didn't happen, Raphael sets out to bring Aziraphale home. Except nothing matches the script.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 120





	Not in the Script

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't read the movie script (and I won't ever), but there's only one angel who would gain from circulating it, and that's where this came from.

Dressed in a vanilla suit modeled mostly after Gabriel's, since he also headed his own department in Heaven, though with the addition of the ruffle Uriel had worn in deep gold, since he required something flowing and colorful, Raphael appeared on Earth near the British Museum. If not for the humans bundled in thicker layers than him, their heads down as they hurried on their way against the chill air, he would question his accuracy. The pillars and fresco ahead of him belonged to a different, older culture.

An internal check on his location confirmed he arrived on the northern island and not near the warmer sea. He rarely came to Earth, his department concerned with the human souls arriving in Heaven, while he personally focused on those in need of healing due to either their lives or deaths, but he did recall when decorations like the pillars and fresco had been common. In their own way, humans decorated their afterlife, never literally, but generally, giving him a backward view of the world as they recalled it. Besides, something about this building felt... wrong, uncomfortable... lost?

Setting his shoulders, and pushing his long dreads back over his shoulder as the wind wiped past, he headed inside. He knew at least one being within was lost. It shouldn’t take long to find an angel among the curators and bring Aziraphale safely home.

After walking beneath the ancient stones, he enter a huge white expanse that'd not be out of place in Heaven. The skylight overhead crisscrossed with supports creating an inspiring impression while stairs circled a large closed room in the center with arched windows on the second level and a pair colorful banners hung down the length. It created an open enough affect that the walls shared with the rest of the building, more faux Grecian facades, didn't seem out of place around it. It was rather like a closed courtyard, he supposed, without any plants. Considering the weather he left outside, he wasn't surprised the humans preferred it to a real courtyard. Most of the humans had removed their coats, draping them over their arms, and Raphael followed their example. Though he could enjoy layers, he didn't share Gabriel's taste, unsurprisingly, and didn't doubt he'd find an appropriate replacement for the heavy suit if he remained.

Not that he would. He was already nearing his goal.

Spotting a gracious looking human standing near one of the displays, he crossed to speak with her. With the air of someone ready to point him toward his goal, she nodded in welcome.

"Afternoon, sir, and welcome to the British Museum. Are you looking for something in particular?" She'd already pulled out a pamphlet with a map on it.

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied, smiling warmly at the older human. He could feel the weight on her, but it was far too early for him to touch her soul, decades would yet pass before she passed into Heaven's care. "I'm actually trying to find one of your professors, a curator."

When she mouthed the word ma'am and glanced down at herself, Rapheal worried he used the word wrong. As an Archangel, he knew all human languages, yet even the same language could have local meanings and, especially in a building filled with so many different cultures, he may have misjudged. Concerned for a moment herself, the human beamed the next.

"I'm not familiar with all the curators, but I can find out more for you. What's their name?"

"Aziraphale. We were colleagues, though in different departments." He never worked directly with any of the Guardians of the Garden, nor ever this particular principality. Overhearing Uriel and Micheal grumbling during the performance, Raphael knew Gabriel embellished the story, but the name was unique and no one hinted he might use another. It should be enough to find him – except the human frowned.

"I've never heard that name before. Did they just start?"

"No, he would've been here for some time," Raphael hedged. While he could imagine Gabriel understating the rank of the angel who disobeyed him, perhaps Gabriel misunderstood the ranks among the humans at the museum. Even working with them regularly, Raphael struggled as humans shifted the importance of their titles, some becoming an insult one generation to the next. Perhaps the museum had a unique system. "I believe he is a curator, but I may be mistaken. I am quite certain he is a professor, perhaps he is only here temporarily." It'd make more sense, given an angel's immortality. Aziraphale couldn't stay indefinitely in a place with dedicated records.

"I'll need to ask. Do you mind waiting here?"

"Not at all."

As she began to walk away, her steps light, she paused and gave him a small smile. "Thank you," she added, then the weight returned. "You'll not mention it, though, will you?"

"Of course not," he assured her, not entirely certain what he'd not be mentioning but certain he'd know before it came up.

While waiting, he eyed the display, kept apart by a low, thin railing to stop anyone from approaching within arm's distance. Raphael spent his time among souls who lived when these relics were household items, making them uninteresting in comparison. Instead he watched the humans, physical and breathing humans, as they moved through the closed courtyard, chatting with each other, pouring over maps, phones and books as they walked, stared and pointed.

According to the Great Plan, none of this should exist anymore. By this point, during the War, little of Earth would be untouched. Some of the humans might still be alive, possibly, but not the walls around him, definitely not the skylights. According to the ineffable plan, this was exactly how it should be. An eleven year old child undermining all the hosts of Heaven and Hell. An eleven year old child forcing Gabriel to return in defeat and issue orders to stand down.

Raphael smiled at the numerous humans and their building.

"Sir?" Another human approached him, broad shouldered and determined, with only the twitch of an eye as Raphael turned to him and he saw the ruffles. Perhaps Raphael misunderstood something of the required outfits, except then the human spotted the jacket over his arm and relaxed, smiling. "It is warm, isn't it? Dave tells me you're looking for a curator? Asreal Fail? I don't know anyone here by that name."

"It’s a single name. Aziraphale." Though humans did have two names lately. Uncertain how he adjusted his name to match, Raphael meant to avoid guessing. With only one name offered, though, the human frowned with hints of suspicion. "Perhaps he adjusted it to be more easily pronounced? He's a professor, and may be visiting?"

Again, his eyes racked over Raphael, taking in the long dreads tied back, the small gold earrings, which matched the shirt, just as the watch did and the ring on his left hand. Not planning on staying long, yet knowing he'd need to speak to a number of humans, Raphael had hidden the silver that crossed his check so his skin was entirely brown.

"Are you pretending at familiarity to harass our professors? Is this another Black Panther rant? We care for our artifacts with the most updated preservation tools and security systems, hosting professors from around the world who come to study them. The unfortunate truth is that their countries of origin are unequipped to care for them. If not lost through exposure, they'd be stolen and sold illegally to private collectors. We must keep them here for the benefit of everyone. The whole world can view them here."

"I... have no idea what you're talking about," Raphael said after a long moment. "The objects within this building? They're prizes of war, a victory hoard on display. The whole world viewing them here proves the might of your empire. Look at the magnificent architecture you created to house them." He raised a hand to the skylight and its patterns. "You are certain you don't any anyone here by the name of Aziraphale? Older, very blond, easily distracted? Rather timid?" He didn't know Aizraphale enough to describe him better, though he would recognize another angel when they met and Aziraphale, now immune to hell fire, should be noticeable.

Blinking at him, the human began to speak several times before giving himself a shake. "Certainly not. I assure you, you have no friends here."

"For their sake, I hope not," he replied, allowed a parting nod, and pulled his jacket on as he returned to the chilly wind. Facing into it, he breathed deeply and sighed.

When he descended to Earth, he imagined convincing Aziraphale that Heaven would welcome him back as the greatest hurdle. After all, the poor angel must be completely beaten down to believe a demon who treated him so horridly was a friend, and trusting that friendship above Heaven or any of the angels within. Working for Gabriel, notably absent from within the performance, wouldn't help. After speaking with Jeamel and Joel, both of them as worried about the lost angel as he, Raphael wanted to return him to Heaven's flock. Still an angel despite contradicting Gabriel, Aziraphale clearly followed Her Will and they couldn't ignore that. He shouldn’t be exiled.

But now he needed to find him without alerting Gabriel to his search. That's why Raphael came himself, both he and Gabriel were the head of their departments, equals in Heaven. If he claimed he just wanted a bracing walk in the Earth's wind, Gabriel couldn't deny him, which didn't mean he wanted Gabriel knowing he was here.

Pausing to send up a prayer for guidance, Raphael started down the street. Though not at the museum, Aziraphale must still be within London, or at least England. Somewhere on the island, surely. The Antichrist confronted and defied Gabriel and the others, with Aziraphale at his side, in Tadfield not far off and the... circular street that burst into flame in honor of the Dread Beast around London. Therefore, Aziraphale must be in the city, which simplified Raphael's search, at least compared to the entire world, or even the entire island, though it hardly felt as if it improved his chances at all.

One of the things that convinced him to act, however, had been hearing Uriel and Micheal grumble over the performance as it happened. Apparently, Michael suspected and proved something about the demon's influence on Aziraphale and Gabriel dismissed it, then they both tried to intercept Aziraphale except the call to arms interrupted that confrontation. Overhearing them allude to both several times, Raphael never learned what happened. Neither was included in the performance.

Among their quiet complaints, he did make out several references to books, which, much like narrowing his search from all of England to London, only marginally helped. He couldn't imagine how many bookshops must be in London, not to mention libraries and related interests. They'd also said something about food and appetites, but if Rapheal must search out every restaurant and diner, he might as well search all of London systematically.

His wandering feet brought him not to a bookshop, or library, however, but paused him before a display of clothing, suits not unlike his own. It would be better, if he must remain, to wear clothes designed and tailored by humans and, perhaps, find something suitable for an Archangel in a style he appreciated. Gabriel may understand the value of quality clothing, but his fashion was boring. If nothing else, it'd give Raphael an idea of the quality and cost he should seek elsewhere. It'd been so long since he visited Earth, he'd no idea how to judge their currency or inflation.

Warm within, he kept his jacket on this time while he admired the different cuts. Perhaps Gabriel had shopped here, most of the colors matched what he and his department wore. All browns, beiges and grays, with a few blacks and dark blues to liven it up. None had price tags on them, no section marked as one price or the other. All of them dull.

As he wandered, though, he noted another whole section of the store full of colors. Among these, he found an array of designs. The pants varied from ankle length to upper calf and the skirts and dresses would sit near his thighs or drape on the floor, and the shirts may or might not have sleeves, or shoulders. Most them them, however, had far too thin waists, shoulders and arms. They all seemed designed with space on the chest for breasts as well, which was the exact opposite as those he originally noticed.

"Looking for a loved one?" the human asked. She’d watched him since he walked in and at first he assumed she sensed his angelic presence enough to confuse herself, forgetting he'd disguised it even from the most perceptive watchers. However, it'd quickly become obvious her interest was suspicion rather than curiosity, and he doubted he’d misstepped with some small human nicety again. Even if she didn't recognize his aura, he'd dealt with underlings more worthy than her and, when he frowned, she stepped away and dropped her gaze.

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" he asked. "You've observed me long enough to form an opinion."

"We're careful with all our costumers," she replied, raising her face but looking aside. "It's store protocol to assist everyone who comes in. It's general procedure." Her tone much like what he heard in the museum, again without any sense to it that Raphael could point out, he merely nodded instead of pointing out the inconsistencies in her lie. He spent too much time with humans after all their physical distractions fell away, when only their memories of the world remained, and such memories were never as strong as the reality he stood in.

"I do not believe anyone I love would appreciate the treatment I have ignored just so I might buy them clothing." Leaving before she could reply, he was once again grateful for the wind against his face.

Pushing the hair out of his face, he sighed. He'd need to learn more about the current activities of humans if he intended to find the lost angel without alerting Gabriel. Twice now, in as many conversations, he stumbled against prejudices he couldn't understand, and if-

"Hey!" Long-limped, dressed anachronistically, the human rushed to intercept him, gasping for air as she caught up. "That is, sir - madam - gentle-" Standing, she adjusted her bow tie and straightened her vest. While Raphael blinked at her, a shorter, rounder human in a black corset and dress, and thick coat, joined the lanky one, taking her arm.

"What she means to say," she said, shooting a fond, amused glance at the first before returning the smile to him, "is that we saw you through the windows and, if you forgive our spying, we can help you find... more feminine attire. Dresses and such. Where they won't rush you out or watch you ever step you take."

"Or pants, if you like," the lanky one said. "Something different than what you've got now."

"Guides." He paused, sending silent thanks at the answer to his prayer. "I would appreciate it. I fear the person I came to meet is not to be found as easily as I expected."

"That happens all the time," the lanky one said, while the shorter one smiled at his acceptance. More at ease with the quieter of them, Raphael fell into step with her as they continued. "It's never as easy to meet up as you think. Have you tried calling them? We're right next to the museum and headed into Soho. We can meet them at Tottenham."

"I'm surprising him," he explained, providing a more general explanation now that he knew Gabriel had falsified some of the performance. "We don't know each other well and he's gotten himself into a bit of trouble. Given how our mutual acquaintances reacted, he has reason to doubt the our intent in visiting, even my own. I want to see him well," he added, reassuring the spike in their worry. "From the little they've reported, I'm certain they treated him unfairly and the current trouble is as much as their fault as his. Most of the blame, I am certain, lies with them. I want him to know others of us still support him and we won't allow those who mistreated him to do so again. It would be better, we think," he admitted, as much to himself as the humans, "if he is safely home before we mention anything to them."

"If he wants to go back," the shorter one said, watching him with piercing eyes. She preferred black lace against her black skin, and he could feel the love in the crafting of it. Though she'd made her dress, the lace was gifted by someone who cared for her, a parent most like, and it radiated protection and love to his senses. "He may not wish to."

"He may not," Raphael agreed, not about to counter them. They assumed he spoke of a human, after all. A human could find another home on Earth, and a new family there. There couldn't be another Heaven, though, nor any other angels. Gabriel failed Aziraphale if he felt so alone he befriended a demon; once reassured not all of Heaven rejected him, Aziraphale would return. "If he doesn't wish to return, I will not force him. I want him to know the opportunity exists."

"Good enough," the lanky one declared, even if the shorter one didn't agree. But she didn't argue, turning instead to gossip about the chill in the air and the weather in general, and then the climate, and then something about brexit, and laws or costumes that again passed beyond Raphael's knowledge. Instead, he enjoyed their company, the love they shared with each other, and, in quiet, unnoticed thanks, healed some of the weight they carried. They world, as demonstrated by more than a few glances at them as they walked, wouldn't entirely accept them and their souls felt it, but others did smile to see their linked arms and odd apparel.

Separated by their physical bodies, humans couldn't fully accept each other. Their communication must be verbal or visible, and he felt bitterness turned to anger, loneliness to hurt, in many of those they passed on the busy streets. For all his guides pointed different locations, he rarely noticed the buildings. In another few thousand years, he might visit another continent and note they decorated their museums with the same facades he now saw, and be only as confused as he was earlier today. The buildings never meant anything compared to the people and, for all they might change, they felt so similar to him.

He'd little interested in the buildings until he read A. Z. Fell. & Co. Antiquarian and Unusual Books. Breathing in deeply, he knew an angel lived here.

"Oh, Mr. Fell might know him," the lanky one considered. "He's lovely, so long as you don't try to buy his books."

"And his spouse," the shorter one added, her smiling deepening.

"Hey!"

"I've seen you looking," she teased back, pulling her closer. "Especially when she's in one of those blouses."

"I'm... Just... That's not the point!" Even redder now than from the wind, she adjusted her bow tie again. Neither of them noticed Raphael’s sudden frown. But perhaps a Aziraphale allowed a spouse as a disguise, to hide himself from the humans, or to hide a human from other humans. He might give sanctuary to a human for any reason.

"Do you like books, Ralph?" she asked. They'd mistaken his name earlier and, as it may be easier to reach Aziraphale if he didn't think another Archangel looked for him, Raphael accepted it. "Gene's right. Tell him you don't want to buy anything, and he'll talk with you for hours. I think he knows everyone, and especially anyone new. Most of them find their way to Mr. Fell's shop lately. He's a real angel."

"Is he? I would like to meet, Mr. Fell the real angel."

"Sure thing, so long as the shop is open. You never know." Raphael followed them across the street and up the stairs, the chilly breeze welcome reassurance at his back.

Antiques and books, so like a museum. And the aura of the whole place. However Aziraphale made a home out of such a physical, human infested place, he would be overjoyed to return to Heaven and angels’ company. He'd no longer need to deal with constant physical demands or short-lived humans, leaving him without family every century.

When the knob turned under the lanky one's hand, she gave a cry of triumph, to her partner's amusement and Raphael sent up another prayer of thanks. This was exactly where he was meant to be. The bells jingled as they entered, the lanky one holding the door for all of them and the shorter one entering first, scanning the room.

"Mr. Fell?" she called, her voice soft as it carried. A few other people browsed, one of them smiling and nodding deeper within the shop. She smiled in thanks as the lanky one closed the wind outside. "This way. He's probably in the back room for tea and biscuits. He probably live above but it might just be storage for a personal library up there. No one knows for sure. It's not like the shop keeps regular hours."

"He has the best biscuits," the lanky one said, offering her arm again, and received a smile for as the shorter one slipped hers around it. As they crossed between the shelves, Raphael could feel Aziraphael's touch everywhere, he must've been in this shop for hundreds of years, the humans accepting his continued presence without ever truly being aware of him. It'd be so much easier in for him in Heaven, recognized as the principality he was.

An angel walked out from among the shelves, well hidden in a comfortable corporation recently remade by the Antichrist, his beaming smile surprising Raphael. Surely, he shouldn’t be that delighted by a pair of humans, ignoring that he radiated happiness at the moment.

"Ah, Martha, Genevieve, what could - Raphael." The smile disappeared, the bright blue eyes narrowed and he raised his chin, his entire body now stiff. As if following them from outside, a chill surrounded them.

"Aziraphale," he replied, mildly surprised Aziraphale recognized him so easily even if he was an Archangel. He'd hoped to speak first, before identifying himself. "I came to apologize for how Gabriel treated you."

"Indeed." Not hearing him at all, Aziraphale turned a milder expression to the humans. "Ladies, would you excuse us, please?"

"Ah-"

"Right," the shorter one said, giving a pull on the other's arm when she hesitated. "Sure thing, Mr. Fell."

Raphael waited until they retreated before opening his hands and stepping forward. "Please, Aziraphale, listen."

"I don't suppose you'd save us both the trouble and just leave?" Aziraphale countered.

"Martha," Gene hissed as she hurried with her. They left Mr. Fell alone! After leading the stranger right to him! "We can't just leave him there."

"We aren't. I've told you before, you're not on your own, Gene, not anymore. Mr. Fell can take care of himself and we can help most by getting help. First, we try to find the other Fell. He probably knows Ralph - Raphael - or at least about him and he probably knows what to do." She paused, looking between shelves, before hauling her girlfriend on. "If we can't find him, we find other help. Will was in the front, he can 'happen' back while we run out. Mr. Fell's been in Soho for ages, if he's in trouble, people will want to help. Really, I think ever chief, barista, server and collector in London knows him. But we find his-"

She rocked to a stop as she rounded a corner and nearly stepped on the other Fell slumped at an improbable angle in an oversized chair. Messing on his phone, he raised his face to them.

"Vest Girl. Lace Girl. What's up? Come to ask for more costume tips? You know, the Victorians really liked vivid greens and oranges. You should give it a try. Enough with the mourning attire, just don't be two authentic in creating the colors."

Though not really attracted to him even when he presented as a woman, Gene knew why Martha liked him. No one should be able to sit like that in a chair, no one should be able to bend like that at all. Always in black and red, always wearing his shades, eyes always completely hidden, dark red hair always a mess and always perfect, clothes always tight enough to be skin, and then the snake tattoo. He looked like sin personified. Yet his devotion to Mr. Fell, the way he smiled at him, was the kind of holy love Gene wanted to share with Martha, how she wanted to look at her in another thirty or forty years.

"We found a man looking at dresses in the upscale shop near the museum, and we thought he'd get treated better here. He said he'd a friend in London he needed to find, who'd a disagreement with mutual friends and-" Martha cut off as the other Mr. Fell stood, untangling and straightening all his limps seamlessly.

"What's he look like? Did he tell you his name?"

"He's brown, with long black dreads, wearing an expensive suit with a ruffled gold shirt. I'm not sure from where he's from; I’ve never heard his accent before. He said his name is Ralph, but Mr. Fell called him Raphael."

"Of course, Rapheal," he sneered the name, attention over their heads as if he could see through the shelves. Gene would believe it of him, but he scoffed, so apparently not. "They never change their hair up there. Always exactly the same look."

"We can get some help," Martha offered. "The whole block would-"

"Oh, no." He shook his head quickly, raising his hands to top the suggestion. "I'll let Aziraphale know, but more - people around will make it worse. Actually, can you do a quick sweep and get anyone in, out? Flip the sign to closed? Close the blinds before you go? That'd be most helpful, I can get straight to the middle then."

"He told Mr. Fell he came to apologize for Gabriel," Gene added. She'd give anything to have anyone from her family apologize, even for someone else, but she didn't think she'd want them finding her either. "He told us he'd come to tell his friend that he could come back but..." Even with the shades hiding his eyes, Gene wilted under them.

"We're sorry," Martha said. "The way he talked, I thought his 'friend' was someone younger than him. Someone new. We should know better."

"His kind aren't bad, exactly," he said, vaguely trying to reassure them without believing it himself. "Come back tomorrow, you'll get your clothing tips then. It's fine. But for now..." He waved them off, and this time they went. A glance exchanged, and they explained everything to Will once outside, then the three sat in the coffee shop across the way, watching the closed bookshop and waiting.

Though dimly aware the lock turned by itself after the humans left, Raphael hadn't any attention for it. This was not going as he imagined it. Rather than timid or easily manipulated, in need of gentle reassurance and comfort, Aziraphale was not only unwelcoming, but insistently uninterested.

"Gabriel obviously didn't understand what happened before or during Armageddon regardless the performance he staged," Raphael tried again. "The ineffable plan succeeded, however, and for that you should be commended. Whatever came before, you can be forgiven if you repent. You do not need to exile yourself Earth for the rest of eternity." Gabriel never should have left Aziraphale on Earth for so long.

"If you don't know what happened, then you've no idea how I might repent or if I can be forgiven."

"You are still an angel. You haven't Fallen, so-"

"-light speed dive into a vat of sulfur." Silky voice joining them from the left, the demon emerged with fingers pressed into too small pockets, focusing too much attention on his hips as they swayed inhumanly with each step, shirt open, and fully yellow, snake eyes unblinking. Barely raising his brows as he passed Raphael, never slowing his saunter, he reached Aziraphale and planted himself to his left, their arms just touching. "You wouldn't like it, love. Isn't any fun, wouldn't recommend it."

"I'm not at all pleased you had to endure it," he assured him.

"What are you doing here?" Raphael demanded. Crowley raised his brows.

"Oh, good old Gabe didn't leave me out, did he?"

"No, demon Crowley, he most certainly did not." Clenching his jaw, Raphael knew he'd need to pick his words or risk turning Aziraphale against him in defense of his abuser. In the performance, the demon abandoned Aziraphale after he got what he wanted, which was the only kindness the demon did him. "You're the one who lost the Antichrist and led an angel of the Lord astray."

"In his explanation to Heaven," Aziraphale began, eyes sparkling as he smiled at the demon, "Gabriel may have described your part accurately. I daresay I've strayed quite far after you."

"Funny, I distinctly recall the first successful temptation was your offer."

Rather than wilt under the disagreement, Aziraphale pressed his lips together to keep his smile from expanding, holding the demon's eyes. This was far worse than Gabriel presented. Not only had the demon convinced Aziraphale of his guilt, he convinced him of his sincerity. Aziraphale believed in him.

"Don't you have a nightclub to get back to?" Raphael suggested. They stopped staring at each other to stare at him, which was only slightly better than Aziraphale gazing at the demon.

"A what?"

"Your nightclub. Go terrorize your staff and the humans."

"My... staff? You think I... _own_ a nightclub? With _staff_?" The demon stopped, slit pupils flicking to Aziraphale and then back. "Is this staff demons or humans? Wait, what do I serve? Why would I have a bar that I need to share with a bunch of costumers? I'd need to stock it and I wouldn't get to drink it! Wait! I'd have to put up with costumers! No, nope. No." He raised both hands, waving it away. "That's a horrible idea. Why a- I'd have to buy it. Build it? No, worse, but I don't want a used one, that'd be nasty. I've worked in those places. What a... Why would I want to put up with that many humans every night? I'd have managers." He wrinkled his nose. "I'm up here to get away from Hell, not reinvent it."

"And all the best puns were used decades ago," Aziraphale agreed, clicking his tongue.

"Centuries ago. Ages. If not the first, the second pub that opened up."

"True. Oh! That lovely place in Egypt, the Underworld's Scarab. I liked that one."

"That wasn't a nightclub, angel." He paused, considering. "But I've never had fish lentil as good as theirs. And their beer was normally good."

"Except the time you got a fish bone in your throat and spoiled it all," Aziraphale said, lips pressed together as he rolled his eyes. "Everyone got sick that night, including us."

"I said I was sorry! That was four thousand years ago!"

Aizraphale only raised his brows and hummed, no hint of forgiveness about him. With a roll of his slit eyes, the demon stuffed his hands into his pockets again and turned back to Raphael, who stood perfectly still, uncertain how to react. This was entirely wrong.

"Point being, Gabriel lied, again. I don't have a nightclub, I have never had a night club, I will never have a nightclub, and I will never regret any of those statements. I am here, Mr. Archangel," he tilted his head forward, and Raphael recalled the rumors that this demons was immune to holy water and hinted he could do even more, "because there is nowhere I belong more."

"You're Mr. Fell's ‘spouse'!" he realized in dawning horror. This was so much worse than he suspected. They never should've trusted Gabriel with any angel's well-being.

The exclamation paused them, then the demon nodded. "Vest Girl and Lace Girl," he explained to Aziraphale.

"You'll leave those children alone," Aziraphale said, puffing himself up and wagging a finger at Raphael. "Genevieve has dealt with enough trauma for a person twice her age and Mathra is an absolute treasure. I'll not have you bothering them because I won't go with you."

"They... I wouldn't hurt them," Raphael pulled straight himself. A principality could hardly threaten an Archangel, even if he was immune to hell fire, but Raphael quickly shook his head. He came here to mend the damage Gabriel did, and that Archangel gave the principality reason to doubt all angels. "I won't hurt you either. Aziraphale, you're an angel, you belong in Heaven." Though he didn't say it aloud, Aziraphale didn't belong on Earth with a demon at all. However, when his eyes frowned at the demon, Aziraphale seized his hand in response, yanking it out the too small pocket with practiced ease.

"No, I do not. I belong right here."

"There are more departments in Heaven than Gabriel's. We can find a place you belong."

"I belong here. I will not return, nor will I repent. I have no need of your forgiveness, nor Gabriel's, nor Heaven's. I have apologized and been forgiven by the only one I should have trusted, and I regret nothing else about the whole fiasco."

"And it was," Raphael agreed, on firmer ground now. They discussed this before he left for Earth, trying to determine how to approach Aziraphale. "You played a key part in God's ineffable plan. Without your devotion and attention to detail, all of Heaven would have failed Her. You saved us from disobeying Her Will. Heaven owes you an apology, not you us."

Eyes narrowed, Aziraphale waited for the ultimatum with the promise. Raphael opened his hands instead, trying to welcome him back.

"I do not want an apology from Heaven."

"You can't lie to me, Aziraphale."

A deep breath, setting his shoulders, and Aziraphale looked at him honestly. "The only reason I would want Heaven to offer me an official apology, or to recognize anything I've done, is so I could tell you to shove it up your ass along with the stick you've got up there. Perhaps," he added, while Raphael's mouth hung open and the demon smirked, "if anyone upstairs listened to me or objected to Earth's destruction, I might care. I won't be tricked back now that I'm free. The only time I have ever been happy has been when Heaven left me alone and now that I am not bound by your rules, I am quite satisfied with my life. I never wanted to be in Heaven. I am an angel and my place is here, on Earth, with a demon." With a sigh, he shook his head.

"None of this needs to be said to you, Raphael. We are strangers and, even if you think you have the right to interrupt my life, I suppose I am grateful one angel cares. However, if you truly care about me, then leave me were I am. If you truly care about what I endured before, Gabriel specifically and Heaven in general, then recognize the the problem is isn't with me and anyone who need saving is within your own home. Rescue them." 

Trying to consider the ramifications of Aziraphale’s confidence, Raphael began to understand why Gabriel made up a story rather than repeat the truth. "Aziraphale, the demon has confused you. How long has he followed you and weakened your resolve? How far has he pulled you from your heavenly home? How far has he pushed you to indulge in physical amusements instead of spiritual devotion?"

Drawing in another deep breath, Aziraphale closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his forehead.

"I thought it sounded good," the demon reassured him, everything Raphael said playing right into his hands. "Empowering, decisive. Convinced me."

"You stay out of this! Haven't you somewhere-"

"Oh, bugger off. You're the one who shouldn't be here."

"A demon-"

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, startling them both. He raised his head and dropped his arm. The other hand still firmly gripped the demon's hand. "His name is Crowley and he does belong here. This is my home, and my home is his home. He may speak as he likes and when he likes. Trust me, he will, and I promise, I adore when he does, even when he annoys me. He has never asked me to... He is very persuasive, but so are you attempting to be. You are the intruder, Raphael. You shouldn't be here."

"She sent those humans as guides so I could find you," Raphael persisted. "This is exactly where I should be."

"Maybe She's finally taking some responsibility for the mess Heaven's in and wants you to fix it," the demon said, words pointed yet his expression bored. "It's a damn disaster, throwing angels into hell fire without even a rigged trial. Maybe She's chosen you, Raphael, to make it better."

"Blasphemy! You're a demon, you can't speak on Her behalf."

"Obvious," he grumbled, "and obviously I am, and you're not any good at speaking for Her either from what I've heard so far." He gave a shrug. "A nightclub!"

"You'll not speak to my husband like that!' Aziraphale snapped. "Not in my house! Not anywhere I can hear. You should leave, Raphael."

"He left the Antichrist in a shopping bag and lost him! He ran off to the stars and abandoned you! He's done nothing but insult you since you first met! You let him beat you in silly human games just to keep him around! Why do you keep defending him?"

As they stared at him again, he realized he was doing exactly what he meant to avoid. Insulting the demon would only prompt Aziraphale to defend him. However, they both just kept staring at him, Aziraphale blinking blue eyes and the demon not blinking at all. Nothing they said negated any of those parts of the story; they'd not argued against the demon losing the Antichrist and implied the demon tricked Aziraphale into agreement.

"Gabriel is a bunch of CEOs in a trench coat pretending to be an author," the demon muttered He rubbed the back of his short hair. "That doesn’t make any sense. You know, Aziraphale beats me all the time at silly human games. He's really good at them. It's annoying."

"You'd never get better if I just let you win, my dear. And how could you enjoy a victory if you didn't think you deserved it?"

"Then why do you let me cheat?"

"Because you enjoy cheating and I want you to be happy," he said immediately, then huffed and glared at him. "You told me you stopped cheating!"

"I did! And then I started again."

"No, you're just saying that. You haven't been."

"I'm a demon! Of course I cheat!"

Realizing they ignored him, again, Raphael pressed his shoulders back. Even if the majority of Gabriel's performance was a lie, the truth of the matter before him, an angel holding a demon's hand, proved the greatest sin of all. Ready to take Aziraphale away in order to save him, at least to spare him Falling, Raphael recalled the two humans guides.

"I did not come to kidnap you," he said, breaking into their teasing argument. They sounded like friends, like ... an old married couple.

"Already happened anyway. Extraordinary rendition," the demon said, then quickly glanced to Aziraphale. "That's what Gabriel told you, wasn't it? Bet he didn't include that part in his report.”

"You may want to ask Gabriel about that as well," Aziraphale suggested, glaring at Raphael.

"I will," he promised. Even if he hadn’t a stomach, he could feel it starting to turn. While he’d no idea what extraordinary rendition meant, he did understand kidnapping. Nor had Gabriel explained the rumors of Aziraphale’s immunity to hell fire, or the demon Crowley’s immunity to holy water. Not that Gabriel ever mentioned Aizraphale confident or the demon Crowley supportive.

"I promised the guides I would not force you to return,” he said instead. He understood too little to argue for Aziraphale’s return now. “I came to tell you, Aziraphale, that you are still an angel, you are still blessed by Her grace, and you are still welcome in Heaven. When you choose to return home, come to me and I will ensure your safety."

"I know you mean well,” Aziraphale said fairly, the demon at his side glowering enough for both of them, “so thank you for that. I will not return to Heaven. I am already home."

Unable to succeed today, Raphael merely nodded before walking out, back into the cold wind.

Not until Gene spotted Ralph leave the bookshop did Martha relax. She couldn't believe she fell for his tales, leading him straight to Mr. Fell. If his husband hadn't been there, she didn't know what they'd have done, whatever she told Gene.

"That's him? Raphael?" Will asked, squinting after him. "And he mentioned a Gabriel? Mr. Fell's first name is Aziraphale. Gotta be some religious cult thing."

"I'm just glad he's gone," Martha grumbled.

"You and me both." Without ever crossing before their window, despite their perfect view of the bookshop, Mr. Fell's husband sauntered up behind Will, yanked a chair over and dropped into it. "And you got it in one," he agreed with Will before shrugging and looking to her and Gene. "Aziraphael wants you to know you didn't do anything wrong, you wouldn't know and Raphael told us he promised you guys he wouldn't force anything. He'll stick to that."

"Is Mr. Fell okay?" Martha asked, feeling Gene's eyes on her. She'd been silent since they sat down. "It was like it frosted over when he said his name."

"He'll take the rest of the day off," he said, dismissing it but shifting in his seat, already wanting to be gone. She didn't blame him, if anyone from Gene's family showed up like that, it'd take at least a day for her to recover even after the shock wore off. "He's stronger than most people think, and he knows where home is."

"We shouldn't have brought him."

"No, you didn't do anything wrong." He huffed, leaning forward. "That's the whole reason I came over. You didn't know, you did what you should've. It's a human thing, when you do that, and you don't want to lose it." He smacked the table as he stood. "Everything'll be fine. Stop in later, Aziraphale will tell you the same."

"Are you from the same place?" Will asked, pausing him as he turned. "Did he come to apologize to you as well?"

His smile was bitter. The angle playing tricks through the encompassing lenses, Martha thought his pupils looked like slits. "I'm from Hell. They're not mean enough to pretend at apologies."

Back in the shop, certain all the doors were locked, Crowley wove his way to the back, reviewing his conversation with the kids after an already overloaded confrontation. And here he thought it'd be quiet day.

"Told them they didn't do anything wrong," he said as he reached the couch. Aziraphale sat in the corner, nursing a whiskey, the bottle no further depleted than it'd been when Crowley left on Aziraphale's orders. The glass the exact same volume as well, even the ice cubes still frozen. "Told them twice and assured them getting a promise out of Raphael helped. You can tell them again whenever you open the shop next." Joining his husband, he wrapped an arm around his shoulder and Aziraphale leaned into him.

"Do you know," he said eventually, "he thought I worked at the museum. Gabriel said I was a curator there, a professor."

"Better than a nightclub owner," Crowley replied, but couldn't help but smile. "I can't imagine you putting up with that for very long. All those people interrupting your day, having to put your books out on display where you couldn't read them, someone else deciding which ‘experts’ could examine them, depending on human preservation techniques, no cocoa while reading, regular hours." Squirming at each suggestion, Aziraphale scoffed at the last.

"Worst than an eternity in Heaven. If threatened with curating at the 'British Museum,'" he worsened his accent, somehow sounding more posh and British, "instead of the end of the world, you wouldn't need to talk me into stopping Armageddon. I'd have been convincing you. Can you imagine? Every day of it? And you'd be busy every night, I suppose. Absolute horror."

"I'd go under in a week. You'd be fired in a week. We'd be too busy miracling ourselves out of human work to do any real work. Did he say _why_ we did such things? Did Hell and Heaven require it? We've done human jobs before, I suppose..." Not for very long, but long enough. Giving Aziraphale a squeeze, he didn't really care about the answer, just wanted his angel to relax a little. "You know, you're not wrong to want to accept Raphael's offer."

"I don't!" He bolted straight, whiskey sloshing and blue eyes wide, imploring Crowley to believe him. "I don't want to go back at all. Even if Raphael is better than Gabriel, it's still Heaven. I don't want to be in Heaven again, I haven't since... It's not Earth, and I'd never see you again, and... I don't..." But he ran out of words, trailing away and his uncertainty made Crowley's heart ache.

"I know," he promised. No on else in creation would know as much as him. He'd never intended to Fall, and Aziraphale hadn't Fallen. "It's not that you want to go back. Or to ever be back. But it's not wrong to wish."

"I'd rather be a museum's curator than fit Heaven's expectations again, but sometimes..."

"I know," he said again when Aziraphale couldn't finish. A moment later, though, his angel beamed at him, set aside his whiskey, and cuddled up against him, hugging him close.

"More than anything, I want to be where I can fit expectations without effort," he said, eyes blissfully closed and Crowley's heart aching for a whole new reason. "You expect me to be myself."


End file.
